Husbands are like fires. They go out when unattended.

Zsa Zsa Gabor

What kind of attention are we (or is Zsa Zsa) talking about here? Sexual? Spiritual? Emotional? Existential? Does this mean asking about his day, his dreams, his doubts? Does this mean cooking dinner?

What really does this mean? Can a flame almost out truly be revived? Is there something a wee bit sexist about this quote? Are we wives fires too? What kind of attention and tending do we need to stay put, and stay satisfied, in the context of a marriage?

{I just read Husband the above quote and he thinks it might about men falling asleep when you don’t want them to. I don’t know why but this interpretation makes me smile. Particularly because I’m always the one who falls asleep without fail eleven minutes into a rented movie. Speaking of which, we are planning to watch Moneyball (and make a fire in our fireplace!) tonight. Was it good? And, in particular, how were the first eleven minutes?}

Thoughts on the quote? What does it mean? Is it sexist, or just kind of funny? Are you good keeping the fire in your life going? Any other movie recs for our mellow Friday night in? Anyone else nod off during movies?

{Big Girl’s rendering of a stegosaurus monogrammed with “MD” for Mommy and Daddy. Image has nothing at all to do with the post that follows.}

Walt Disney said these words: It’s kind of fun to do the impossible.

I read these words, this sentence, and smile. Because I love oxymorons. I think life is laced with paradoxical bits and I enjoy this about life. I also smile because I agree with these words. Each morning, I wake up and my head swims with all the things I’d like to accomplish that day: Spend ample quality time with the trio! Write several chapters of my novel! Work out! Hammer out witty and wise blog posts! Have good conversations with Husband, friends, family, myself! Shower!

It’s ridiculous really. There is no way I will be able to do these things, all these things. And yet I realize that there is a certain and ineffable fun to be had in trying. Because maybe the trying, the juggling, the struggling, the hoping, the dreaming… maybe all of this is really the doing? And sometimes (if I am in a good mood, an optimistic place) I am willing to admit it: it is also kind of fun.

(Does this post make any sense at all? Maybe so. Maybe not. No matter. Not all of my posts can be deeply witty or wise:))

Some other oxymorons I dig:

Happiness is the absence of the striving for happiness. (Chuang-Tzu)

I was never less alone than when by myself. (Edward Gibbon)

Real knowledge is to know the extent of one’s own ignorance. (Lao-Tzu)

You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough. (William Blake)

It is because Humanity has never known where it was going that it has been able to find its way. (Oscar Wilde)

Be obscure clearly. (E.B. White)

*

I admit it: Yesterday’s post was a bit heavy. And that makes sense. Its words fell from a heavy place. I didn’t mean to be overly dramatic, or cryptic, or alarming. I just meant to say that I went through something big, and hard. That I stepped out of my own mind and acted. That I helped someone who needed it, and badly. I didn’t write about it to toot my own horn, to garner commentary, or applause. No. I wrote about it because I know that there are a lot of you who come here every day. And I know that some of you probably know someone who is struggling, more subtly or more severely. And I know that it is so hard to tell what is going on behind closed doors and closed minds and pretty smiles, but I implore you to think about it, what might be going on. Trust your instinct.

Enough of that.

I’m craving lightness today. Something sweet and airy and pretty and fun. And so. Here I am. Sharing with you pictures (edited to keep things appropriately anonymous) from The First Annual Rowley Girl Holiday Photo Shoot. Now said shoot? It was a total disaster involving screaming and splattered baby food and two very lovely and patient photographers. I’m not sure what possessed me to take all three girls alone with four outfits? Anyway, I left the cute little studio on Columbus thinking there was no way any good pictures would result from such chaos. But I was wrong. Boy was I wrong.

I brought the girls to the shoot in jeans and polos. Before we even got started, Little Girl’s purple pony was drenched in sweet potatoes. Alas. Thank goodness for photo-editing. I decided to get bold, to have my big girls hold Little Girl’s hands for a standing shot. All was well for a few seconds.

In case you missed it, check out my baby’s smile. Well, it didn’t last too long. Because she fell. She fell because she was only nine months at the time and doesn’t really stand yet and also because her big sisters are not schooled in the art of holding their sister up and they kind of just let go. Anyway, there was a minor splat. But some serious tears.

The big girls did their best to cheer their weepy sis.

This might be my favorite of the whole batch. I just adore the way my tiniest creature is looking up at her big sisters. I love the swirl of skin and hair and messy clothes. I love the toes.

As I tried my best to calm Little Girl, the big girls had a little love fest/ dance party in their frilly little tutu-things.

There were even kisses involved.

And lots of twirling. Lots.

I stood back, by the window of the studio, bopping my babe, whispering to her, begging her to calm down, and watching my girls dance. It was all very concocted, yes, this display. But there was something also very spontaneous, very free, about it. They are mine, I thought. This right here? The tears and the twirls, the smiles and the sobs, the cartoon band aids and yellow and pink nails? This what it is all about.

We got a few individual shots, too. Because they are not just sisters. They are people.

I don’t know if I will ever be able to cut this hair.

We were able to get a few happy shots of the three girls in their pastel numbers.

And then at least one in their woolly Christmas dresses. Those little white reindeer sleigh me.

And then one in their holiday PJs on a yummy Flokati rug. This one would have gone on our holiday card if I’d gotten my act together to make one and send one this season.

Alas.

A big thank you to Vanessa and crew at PhotoOp (named Best Children’s Family Photo Studio in New York by New York Magazine in their “Best of New York” issue) for somehow making that nutty hour turn into these priceless shots!

This was a really strange weekend. And I am still a bit shaky.

A friend has been suffering. And on Friday, something happened, something scary. It was a cry. A loud one. In my mind, unmistakable.

And so. I showed up. A few of us did. At her home. In the morning. In my pajamas and glasses. And she cried when she saw me. And hugged me hard.

I’m going to help you, I said. We all are.

There was so resistance. None. It was as if she’s been waiting. For someone outside of her immediate family to notice.

I did. Many of us did. And so. We gathered around her on a brisk Saturday morning. We talked and and talked. There were phone calls, hard ones. There was laughter. There were tears. There was friendship.

Love.

I am a thinker. A theory girl. Sometimes, often, I get lost in the land of abstractions, flirting with words and ideas.

But this weekend I heeded my instinct, my profound instinct, and I acted. We acted.

And now. She is safe and getting some help. The help she so needs, and so deserves.

Do not ignore your instincts. If you think someone is struggling, and crying out, you are probably right.

{I apologize that this is so bare-boned, so bare-branched, so admittedly vague, but I feel this is necessary to protect my friend and her family. I almost didn’t acknowledge this occurrence at all here on ILI, but I was, and am, very affected by all of this and so wanted to write about it, even if cryptically. I hope you all understand.}

Have you ever helped someone get the help they needed? Has anyone ever helped you get the help you needed?

I named my fourth daughter. No, I’m not pregnant.

It all happened in a dream. A particularly vivid dream. In this dream, I was pregnant again. And we learned that we were having another girl. A fourth. In this dream, we pondered baby names and, get this, I came up with one. A name I’ve never thought of before, or heard of even.

A name I love. A name I will not share here. Just in case.

I woke up in the morning thinking of this name and smiling. Immediately, I shared the name with Husband. The name of our fourth daughter. He was not amused. There will be no fourth daughter, he reminded me. And I think I made some joke about how it could be a boy after all, but said joke didn’t fly either.

You see: Husband is done. No more kiddos as far as he’s concerned. And he has made his own jokes on this topic. He says that I will only have a fourth if I find a new husband. I do not like this joke. Because I love the husband I have. I also do not like this joke because, yup, I think I’m open to having a fourth.

Little Girl is getting big. She will be one in March. And I swear there is something biological about a woman starting to crave another baby once her current baby is one. Anyway, I’ve been thinking about it. I’ve even been asking the girls about it, whether they’d want another little sis. (Don’t you love how I assume it would obviously be a girl?) Met with this question, their eyes, their beautiful blue eyes, grow wide and they express their opinions because, yes, they have them. I think they are on Daddy’s side on this one. They say as much. But then Big Girl, my sensitive soul, my thoughtful tot, always punts to me. What do you think, Mom?

What I think is that I am not even convinced I want another. I certainly don’t want one now, or soon. If anything, I’d want to wait a bunch of years, enjoy my trio and man and write some good books, and then go back to the land of sleeplessness and diapers. Only then.

What I think is that this is about so much more. I think this is about the idea that I might never be pregnant again, that I might never stay up at night rocking a little bald bundle, that I might never utter these sentences again: She got her first tooth! She said her first word! She had her first bite of food! I think this is about the idea that a part of my life might be over, a door might be closing. I think this about moving on, to admittedly wonderful new things, but still, moving on.

This is hard. For me. I know that I am infinitely blessed. These little girls of mine are my world. Their eyes remind me of goodness, of love, of life. They are happy and healthy little creatures and they are mine, ours. This family? It’s my everything.

But is this family complete? Maybe. Probably. I imagine so.

And if that’s the case, I will come to be okay with it. Really, I will. I imagine that it’s probably a bit hard for all women to admit that their childbearing years are over even if they don’t actively want more kids?

And if by some miracle or odd twist of events Husband changes his good mind and we go for it, for a fourth, it’s good to know she has a name. A really beautiful one.

A dreamy one.

What do you make of my dream? Do you think that it makes sense that I am saddened at the prospect of not having more kids? Do you feel like your family is complete? Do you think this has anything to do with the fact that Sister C is due with her second babe (a girl!) on Little Girl’s birthday in March?